


Weekly Gaming Session

by Steel_Dragon



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-17 18:16:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4676537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steel_Dragon/pseuds/Steel_Dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two teams face off, every Thursday night, in an epic battle of... video games? </p><p>WGS is a Red vs Blue Domestic AU. What would have happened if the reds and blues were really just two groups getting together to play some Halo every week?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You’re really bad at this,” Tucker remarked, thumbs flicking across a controller.

“You know what? Shut the fuck up,” Church growled. Tucker laughed as Church blew up. Again.

“Whoops, sorry!” Caboose turned an apologetic look from his position on the floor to Church before turning back.

“Watch where you throw your damn grenades!” Church barked. Tex, his girlfriend who would punch you into next week if you actually called her by her real name, snorted. She was sitting next to Church, and was the only one actually killing people on the other team.

“Tucker, cover me!” She shouted, her thumb pressing against the analog stick. Tucker laid down what he thought was suppressing fire. “I said cover me, cockbite, not shoot-randomly-into-the-sky.”

“Church, your girlfriend is a fucking asshole,” Tucker grumbled while Tex got another kill. Honestly, she was carrying this team.

“At least I have kills,” She shot back. Hey, it wasn’t like Tucker wasn’t trying. He tried to shoot the enemy. They were just so… well, he didn’t really have a word for it, because they weren’t so _a_ _nything_. The other team sucked just as bad as they did.

The game ended and the 'winner' screen flashed.

 

“Grif! I can’t believe you cost us the game again!” Sarge half-shouted, in typical Sarge fashion. Grif rolled his eyes.

“It’s not my fault Donut kept getting stuck with grenades!” Grif protested. Sarge always blamed him for everything, even when it wasn’t Grif’s fault.

“I can’t help it if I keep getting nailed!” Donut objected. Grif groaned inwardly. Their weekly match against the ‘blue team’, who were really just a bunch of guys in a nearby house, always ended with them losing. Especially since one of the blue players had quit and Church’s girlfriend had stepped up.

“It’s just a game, guys,” Simmons tried to ease the tension. Grif looked over at him. They were sitting on the couch together, Sarge sitting in a comforter, and Donut planted in a lawn chair. Lopez, who Grif was pretty sure hated them all and was just staying here for the cheap rent, was watching dismally.

“Yeah, well, I have work in the morning,” He groaned at the thought of it. He hated his job; he hated any job really. But for someone like him, being a construction worker was a LOT of work.

Simmons nodded his agreement; he worked in IT for some company. Grif didn’t really pay attention. Lopez, seeing the opportunity, stood and stalked off to his room. Grif and Simmons followed suit. As Simmons disappeared into his bedroom, Grif walked inside his own, closing his door. It was a mess, clothes strewn about the place and various other items. Was that a banana peel on the floor? Probably. He walked over to the bed and flopped down.

 

“Simmons, don’t you know what time it is?” Grif rolled over, burying his face into the pillow. Simmons did, in fact, know what time it was. It was 1:03 in the morning.

“Grif, come on,” Simmons whined. He hated asking for help, especially from Grif. He knew the man was going to hold it over him for the rest of his life, but… Well, he had work, and needed to be awake. Not getting any sleep wouldn’t help with that.

“What do you want?” Grif groaned, opening one eye. They were bright blue, something Sarge always hated. ‘The color of our enemy!’ he had declared. Seriously, it was just a game. Why did Sarge have to take it so seriously? That couldn’t be good for his blood pressure.

“I had a nightmare,” He admitted, feeling his face heat up. Grif let out an exaggerated sigh, but scooched over without saying anything. Simmons climbed into the bed, snuggling into the covers. It wasn’t large and Grif didn’t exactly take up the least amount of space. He was pressed close to Grif and felt his warm body against his back and he felt his eyes closing, the nightmares seemingly melting away.

 

“Fuck that, I have a kid to feed!” Tucker shouted. Ugh, this was not going well. Instead of getting the pay-raise he’d been waiting for, Tucker was getting his hours cut. His boss looked at him disapprovingly.

“Now, Mr. Tucker, I know these are hard times for us all-” Mr. Flowers tried to reason with Tucker, but the he wasn’t having it. Reduced hours? He could barely pay rent as it was!

“No, screw this, I quit,” Tucker huffed, storming out of the office. He slammed the door behind him before he could hear his former boss call his name again. He raked his hands through his hair, going to gather his things, before high tailing it out of the office complex. It took everything the man had to not punch the first person who so much as glanced his way. So caught up in figuring out what to do now that he’d lost his job, he slammed straight into someone whose back was turned. The man staggered forward, nearly losing his balance. He was slightly shorter than Tucker, though it couldn’t be more than a few inches.

“Hey, watch where you’re going,” The man turned, his freckled face looking annoyed. He clutched an empty cup of coffee in his hand. His blond hair was turned up at the front. Tucker met his light-bluish-gray eyes with his own hazel pair. Oh, shit, the shorter man was hot.

“Watch where you’re fucking standing!” Tucker countered. Okay, that didn’t even begin to make sense. He didn’t really care, he just needed an outlet right now and some random stranger suited him just fine.

“The hell’s biting you?” The stranger crossed his arms.

“None of your business.” Tucker rolled his eyes. He tried to push past, but the guy caught him by the arm.

“I think you owe me a coffee,” He nodded at the fresh wet mark on the ground. It had sloshed all out of the cup, apparently, and the man had a new stain on his pants. Then he gestured to the coffee shop they were standing outside of.

“Fine, but this better be quick,” Tucker hissed. He had to go try to explain his situation to Church. His best friend (who was called such for reasons beyond his comprehension) wasn’t the easiest to talk to, much less practically plead for a month free of rent.

The blond nodded, then strode into the coffee shop, not waiting to see if the black man followed. Tucker found his feet moving, and ordering coffee for the both of them. He had limited money; what the hell was he doing buying coffee?! He hated how good looks always influenced him, and Tucker would be damned if the guy he’d crashed into wasn’t attractive. There was something about the way that the stranger’s eyes glittered, even when he was pissed. Something about the freckles that dotted across his cheeks and were splattered all across his face.

After getting the coffees, he took a seat across from the victim of his collison.

“The name’s David Washington,” The man said, taking his coffee. He took a sip, closing his eyes momentarily in delight. “You can call me Wash though.”

“Tucker,” Tucker grumbled. He hated his first name; never used it. Church and Caboose picked up on the habit, and of course the ‘red team’ from their weekly competition copied them.

“Why were you so pissed off?” Wash asked, absent-mindedly tracing a finger around the rim of his cup. The sun came in through the window to his left, lighting up Wash’s eyes and making his hair shine.

“My fucking boss tried to cut my hours. I’m not dealing with that shit, so I quit,” He glared into his coffee. Tucker was easy-going most of the time, usually only getting upset when something happened to his kid, Junior.

“Wow, harsh,” Wash observed, taking a sip of his coffee, “You could always work at my store. My friend’s the manager; I’m sure I could get you a job.”

Tucker rested his head in his hands. “I dunno,” He sighed.

“Look, I gotta get going. If you do wanna take me up on that job, here’s my number,” He scribbled his number on a napkin, then stood. “Thanks for the drink; watch where you’re walking next time.” With that, David left the store.

 

“What do you mean ‘you quit’?” Church raged. Caboose was holed up in his bedroom, trying not to listen to the two men arguing downstairs.

“I. Quit. Quuuuit. You know, the thing where you stop doing whatever you were doing?” Tucker retorted sarcastically. Caboose tried to bury his head in his pillows. They were so loud. He hated it when they fought, why couldn’t everyone just get along?

“Well, you better find a new job soon, ‘cause I’m not letting you off the hook for rent.” Church’s voice still reached his ears.

“Come on! You’re such a prick!” Tucker sounded genuinely distressed.

“Too bad, Tucker, you shouldn’t have just left your fucking job because you weren’t happy.”

“Says Mr. I’m-the-son-of-a-big-CEO-so-I-don’t-have-to-work-a-day-in-my-life,” Tucker shot back. A moment later Caboose heard the sound of stomping and a slammed door to his right. He whimpered slightly, wishing he could just melt away. His phone buzzed suddenly and he looked at it. He still had some trouble navigating the menu, but Church had taught him a lot.

_guessing you heard that?_

Caboose looked at Tucker’s text, then typed back a short ‘yeah’.

_sorry church is being a huge asshole rn_

_its okay i just dont like it when you guys fight :(_

_yeah i know…_

Caboose curled up, texting Tucker even though he was just in the next room. After awhile he heard Church walk out the door and get into his car, pulling out of the driveway. He made a tiny sighing sound, wishing they could all just be friends.

 

Church drove off to his sister’s house. He was pissed and needed to vent. He was pissed at both Tex and Tucker, and… well, those were his two friends.

He pulled into Caroline Church’s driveway, then hopped out of his car and slammed the door. He stalked up to the door, pounding on it. He heard an annoyed ‘coming!’ and a few moments later the door opened.

A red-head leaned in the doorway, quirking a brow at Church. She had green eyes, matching his own. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, part of it brushed over her left eye.

“Well, look who it is,” She commented, the scowl she wore turning into a grin. Church rolled his eyes.

“Who is it?” A male voice inside called.

“What the hell, Lina? You have a _guy_ over?” Church asked, forgetting his frustration momentarily. A moment later a man appeared next to Caroline, a wide grin spread across his face.

“Is this the famous Leonard Church I’ve heard all about?” The man asked. He had brown hair that was spiked up in the front, gray eyes, and a devious expression.

“Who the fuck are you?” Church demanded, glaring at the man.

“Aiden Youngblood, but most people call me York,” He offered a smirk, “Also, sex god, but you don’t need to know about that.” That earned him a hard elbow in the ribs from Caroline.

“Nevermind him. Everything okay?” She asked, an eyebrow raised. York, taking his cue to leave, disappeared back into the house, but not before pecking Caroline on the cheek. She rolled her eyes, but smiled faintly.

“No. Tucker got fired from his shitty job and Tex is pissed at me again.” Caroline grimaced at the mention of Tex. She never liked Tex. In high school they were constantly competing.

“Well, the Tex thing isn’t surprising. You guys break up every other week,” Caroline sighed. Church was well aware that she thought her little brother’s relationship; she’d expressed it to the point where even just pointed looks reminded him of lectures.

“Look, can I just come in?” He grumbled, “I blew up at Tucker because he couldn’t pay rent this week and I don’t really feel like dealing with that shit right now.”

“Yeah, sure. Just take your shoes off; I don’t need you trailing dirt all over my house,” She answered, stepping back. He walked  in, sliding his shoes off as she shut the door behind him.

“So tell me about this York guy.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took a little while; I'll try to put them out sooner in the future!   
> This chapter features Sarge, Tucker, Simmons, and Church PoVs

Sarge was disgruntled to find Simmons curled up next to Grif when he came to get their asses up for them to go to work. He’d stopped and stared for a minute, then turned on his heel and marched out. He turned back around and gave a sharp knock on Grif’s door, then moved to Simmons’s door and did the same.

“Get up, dirtbags, you’re gonna be late for work!” He shouted. Best not to let them know he’d caught them… cuddling. He shuddered at the thought. He knew something had been up between those two for awhile, but… It was all happening too fast for Sarge. He stomped downstairs to the kitchen where Donut was making breakfast.

“Heya, Sarge! I thought this morning should be a meat-morning, so I’m fryin’ up some bacon,” He said chipperly. Sarge mumbled something about coffee; he was virtually useless without the stuff.

A few moments later, Grif and Simmons appeared, looking rumpled from sleep. Sarge was at the coffee pot, pouring himself a mug. He drank his coffee black. Cream and sugar were for the weak, after all.

Donut was one of the weak. He drowned his coffee in creamer. Grif used a decent amount of cream, though Sarge would say any amount was too much. Lopez preferred his coffee black like Sarge. Simmons refused to drink coffee, preferring tea instead.

“Is that bacon?” Grif asked, rubbing his eyes blearily. Simmons began setting the table. That was a red team rule; if they could, they all ate together. Usually mornings were filled with bickering, Grif stuffing his face, and ‘pass the syrup’.

“Sure is!” Donut beamed. Grif raced over, snatching up one of the slices. He bit down on it, humming a note of pleasure. “Like it?”

“Dude, you make the best bacon,” Grif wolfed down the rest of the piece, reaching for another. Donut smacked his hand.

“Hey, wait until we get it on the table!” Donut chided. Grif gave him a sulky look, shuffling over to the table to help Simmons. Okay, maybe _help_ was a strong word. It was more watch Simmons while stealing glances at the bacon. Sarge really didn’t expect anything different from the chubby man.

As Donut finished frying, he slid a few strips onto each plate. Simmons and Grif sat next to each other, Donut on the other. Sarge sat at the head of the table. Lopez had to go into work early this morning, so his seat was empty.

Grif dug in immediately, downing two slices before Simmons had even taken a second bite out of his. He was, as usual, the first one finished. Sarge was equally as impressed, not that he’d admit it, as he was disgusted. He spent the rest of breakfast sneaking food from Simmons’s plate. Sarge was the second finished with his bacon, taking the time to nurse his coffee.

“Simmons, you have to handle meat with your hands!” Donut interrupted in the middle of Simmons’s sentence. Sarge hadn’t been paying attention to what the ginger had been saying, but Donut’s loud exclamation got his attention. He glanced over at Simmons’s plate and, sure enough, Simmons was eating his bacon with a fork. A _fork_.

“Wha-?” Simmons paused with the utensil halfway to his mouth, turning slightly red. The strip of bacon was hanging precariously off the end of it.

“Come on! You gotta just grab it! You know, like a man,” The blond insisted, demonstrating by picking up a piece and swinging it around before clamping his teeth down on it.

“Fucking hell, Donut,” Grif groaned, slipping another slice off of Simmons’s plate. Simmons quickly shoved the bacon on his fork into his mouth before it fell. He chewed a moment, swallowed, then spoke speaking.

“Why does it matter?” Simmons’s voice was a high-pitched squeak.

“Because! That’s not how your supposed to eat it!” Donut explained. Grif snatched the last piece from Simmons, gobbling it down before Simmons could protest. The other man just sighed. Sarge took a long sip off his coffee, smacking his lips as he set the now-empty mug down with a thud.

“Alright, dirt-bags, it's time you got to work!” Sarge stood, grabbing his keys. He drove everyone to work, aside from Lopez. Donut hopped up and put his plate by the sink, followed by Grif and Simmons. They all piled into the car, Sarge in the driver’s seat and Grif riding shotgun. Simmons and Donut climbed in the back. The older man started the engine and backed out of the driveway, heading for the flower shop where Donut worked.

 

Tucker had lasted until about noon before the stress got to him. He broke down, pulling out his phone, and typing in the number written on the napkin he had crumpled into his pocket.

“Hello?” Wash’s voice came through the phone. Tucker breathed a sigh of relief; he’d been worried the attractive guy on the other side of the call wouldn’t pick up.

“Um, hey. It’s Tucker,” He said, twisting a dread around his index finger.

“Oh! Hey! You actually called.”

“Yeah, that’s sorta why you gave me the number,” Tucker bit his lip. He told himself he wasn’t worried. Not at all; why would he be worried? The blond had given him the number, and offered him a job. He had nothing to be worried about.

“I just didn’t know if you’d take me up on the offer,” Wash laughed. He seemed to be in a much better mood than the day Tucker had crashed into him.

“Well, I don’t really have any other options right now…” He trailed off.

“Right. Let me talk to my boss, just a sec,” He rustling, presumably from Wash putting the phone against his chest to quiet it, and a muffled shout. There was indistinct talking for a few minutes, before another rustle. “Can you come in now? She wants to talk to you. Mainly just a formality, though.”

“Yeah, sure. Let me get dressed and shit.” He was already standing, shoving on jeans. He was thankful Junior was with his mother currently, so he didn’t have to worry about picking him up from school or finding a sitter. Tucker shared custody of his son, who’d been a result of too much drinking and a careless night in a hotel room.

As Wash gave him directions to the store, which was thankfully close to the house he shared with Church and Caboose, Tucker slung his teal messenger bag over his shoulder. He grabbed his house key and started walking down the street to a store called ‘Rackets and Baskets’.

 

Simmons was in the break room, enjoying his lunch break. Or, was, until he got a text from Grif. He groaned, grabbing his mobile device and unlocking it.

_so is this gonna be a thing now?_

He gazed at his phone, bewildered.

_What do you mean?_

_yknow the thing last night where you were scared shitless and i was your brave hero that comforted you_ The answering text was practically immediate.

_Look, I had a nightmare, okay? Let it go. It won’t happen again._ His face warmed and he was thankful he was thankful he was the only one in the room.

_fine whatever man just saying i wouldnt mind but if your gonna be a bitch about it_ Normally he would have called Grif out on his use of the wrong word. It should have been you’re, not your. Honestly, it was bad enough Grif didn’t even bother to capitalize or use punctuation. However, right now Simmons was rapt in trying to figure out what the hell Grif was trying to say to him.

_I’m not being a bitch! And what do you mean you wouldn’t mind?_

_i mean i wouldnt mind if you needed me again_ Simmons’s eyebrows shot up. Did Grif mean… He paused, not texting back for awhile until his phone vibrated again.

_uh just nevermind forget i said anything_

_No! Um, I mean, that’d be… nice, I guess._ He typed back quickly. He always had nightmares, he had ever since he was a kid. Usually he just curled up into his blankets, but last night’s had been especially bad. After sliding into Grif’s bed, he hadn’t had a single one.

_k gtg cya 2nite_ Grif texted back. Simmons slumped into his chair, finishing his lunch while thinking about the large man he was again going to be sharing a bed with later that night.

 

Church walked out of Carolina’s bathroom, rubbing a towel over his hair. He was wearing a spare pair of sweats and an oversized T-shirt, because apparently York tended to stay overnight and had some spare clothes stashed away in his sister’s closet. Church would rather not read too deeply into that.

Carolina had informed him last night after her boyfriend had gone home that she’d met York in a club a few months back. Who’d have thought that Carolina went clubbing? He had used a bunch of shitty pick-up lines until he _somehow_ obtained her phone number. A few days later, Carolina had received a text- “Not that I’d been anticipating it,” She’d told him defensively- asked her out for coffee. And, well, things just fell into place.

“And you never bothered to tell _me_ any of this?” He asked yesterday.

“You never asked,” She answered simply.

Now, he was trudging to the living room from the guest bedroom Carolina had let him stay in. There were pictures of the Atlantic Ocean and Chesapeake Bay on the wall. Caroline had told him the story of how she’d originally gotten her nickname. Their father had asked her where she wanted to go on vacation. She’d immediately replied “Carolina!” since she had been a small child and the state had sounded like her name. From then on, their parents had referred to her as ‘their little Carolina’.

He was reminded of the times he’d been to Myrtle Beach (back when mom was still alive and they still went vacationing). He’d loved sitting on the shore. He had been so young, he could barely remember anything about those trips now. One of the vague memories he had was of sand between his toes, his mother’s hand running gently through his hair.

Church shut down his line of thought. He hated thinking about his parents. He hated how his father had all but shut down after their mother had died; how Carolina had been forced to grow up. Looking back, he could practically pin-point the exact spot in time when she had stopped being a little girl, and become a second mother to him. When she had matured much too fast for someone her age.

Carolina had already left for her work as the manager of Rackets and Baskets, a company their father owned. Church walked lazily to the couch, plopping down and flicking on the T.V.

“ _In other news, a local bank has been robbed. Authorities say an armed man hacked the alarms and stole a large sum of money. His identity is unconfirmed. If you have any information on this man, please call-_ ” Church clicked the remote, changing to another channel. He found the news dull, filled with politics and crime reports. He’d much rather watch a crime show. They were much more interesting, probably because they were entirely fictional so the writers could spice up the action.

As he settled into the cushions to watch a re-run of one of the show’s better episodes, he

heard a buzz. Casting a look toward the source of the noise, he saw Carolina’s phone. Way to go, big sis. He frowned, reaching over and scooping it up. He stared down at the text from York.

_Almost had a run-in, but other than that it went smoothly. Did you see me on the news? ;)_

See him on the news? Run-in? _Local bank has been robbed, armed man, stole a large..._ Church blinked slowly, the pieces clicking together in his mind. He couldn’t be right… but if he was, then…

Then his sister was dating a criminal.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!
> 
> If you liked this fic, check out Flying High as Bedrock, my RvB High School AU
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr (steeldragongamer) for WGS updates!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> York is striking up a deal. Wash observes Carolina interviewing Tucker. Grif and Donut talk.

After shooting a text to Carolina, York got off his couch and stretched. He’d had a good haul last night; enough to pay rent this week at least. His head turned as the door opened, a black-haired man with bright green eyes stepping through. The man turned and slid the lock back into place, then glanced around the shitty, run-down apartment he shared with York.

“Hey, D,” York waved. His cousin Damien, known by Delta to most, looked at him and smiled. 

“Good afternoon, York,” He said, setting his bag down and crossing the room.

“Anything interesting happen?” York asked, flopping back down onto the couch. Delta joined him.

“Not especially,” He sighed, “Gamma has informed me that he and Wyoming would like to partner with us on a… mission.” 

York groaned. Wyoming was a hit-man, whereas York typically stuck to robbery. Occasionally he would partner up with others. He had been hired to get Wyoming into a few high-security areas before. The only reason he did it was the pay; he couldn’t stand the other criminal. 

“He’s offering quite the sum. He says it will be somewhat of a… precarious operation. He needs you on the inside. Do you plan on accepting?” York felt Delta’s gaze flit over his face. 

“Hell, why not?” He rubbed a hand over his face, “When and where?” 

Delta frowned as he pulled his laptop onto his lap from its place on the stand beside him. He quickly typed in his passcode and pulled up the plans Gamma must have sent him. Gamma orchestrated most of the operations, digging up floor plans and mapping out what Wyoming would have to do to successfully pull it off. 

York and Delta operated slightly differently. They discussed plans thoroughly and York wore an earpiece that was connected to Delta. Delta operated from their apartment and guided York through the use of a small tracking chip York kept on his person. 

“You’ll need to break in through this door, then travel north,” Delta explained, demonstrating by moving his finger in front of the screen, “You’ll meet Wyoming here, then proceed together to the main room where Wyoming’s target will be. He needs you to stay on look-out. It should be easy enough for you; you have keen eyes.”

York nodded, his brows furrowed in thought. It seemed easy enough. Almost too easy for what was assumed to be a high price. It must be the danger factor of actually venturing inside the complex. Generally he disabled security and unlocked the outer doors, granting access to the inside, rather than actually venturing in himself. 

Three days from now at midnight. A simple job, a high payout. Easy.

 

Wash’s eyebrows raised as Tucker came out from the back room. Well, that had been a quick interview. Then again, Carolina always did prefer to do things efficiently. 

“How’d it go?” Wash called. Tucker turned and looked at him, then broke into a grin.

“She says I got the job. I start tomorrow,” He walked over, leaning on the counter.

“That early, huh? Well, Lina isn’t one to put things off.” If she could have made him start today, she probably would have. 

“Guess I’m gonna have to get used to actually doing shit. At my other job I just played solitaire for most of the day,” Tucker smiled lazily. Wash fought down the urge to smile back. Instead, he frowned.

“That… doesn’t seem like a very good work ethic,” He sighed. Well, hopefully Carolina could keep him in line. Wash supposed he could, but somehow he doubted that the black man would listen to him.

Carolina stalked out of her office, her bag on her hip. Her bright red hair was up in a ponytail, pulled back away from her face. Her vibrant green eyes roved the store, finally locking onto Wash.

“Hey, can you lock up? I have tutoring with Eta and Iota today,” She explained. Wash nodded. She left the shop, the bell above the door clanging.

“She’s got some eyes on her, huh?” Tucker’s eyebrows wiggled. Wash narrowed his eyes.

“If you even think about trying to hit on her, she’ll punch you into next week.”

“Jealous?” Wash stared Tucker down. Admittedly, Tucker was attractive, but he wouldn’t say he was envious of his boss. In fact, he’d rather  not have the full front of Tucker’s, or anyone’s, flirting.  

“Not at all,” He responded coolly. Tucker laughed.

“If you say so. Anyway, I should probably get back to the house. See ya,” He offered a small wave. Wash stared after even as the door closed and the other man began walking down the street. He only snapped out of his daze when a customer attempted to get his attention.

The rest of the work day was bleary for Wash, the only source of excitement coming from the new co-worker he was going to have tomorrow. 

 

Donut stood outside the small flower shop he worked at, fiddling with the key in the lock. He turned it, effectively locking the door, before putting the key in his pocket and beginning his walk home. It was thankfully a bright, sunny day, and Donut smiled up at the sky. Despite it being Winter, it wasn’t too terribly cold. Nonetheless, he found himself snuggling into his scarf for the sheer joy of it. 

“Donut!” A voice called from behind him. He turned to see Frank DuFresne, more commonly called Doc due to his occupation and the fact that his name was too troublesome to bother pronouncing, waving and running to catch up with him. 

“Oh, hey Doc! I didn’t think you were in today so I just started walking without you,” He explained. Donut typically walked home with Doc, since the hospital was close by to Donut’s place of work.

“Yeah, got held up by a patient! Sorry about that,” He gave a small, guilty smile as he laced his fingers through Donut’s. Donut swung their arms slightly as they walked down the street. 

When they arrived at Donut’s house, he separated his hands from Doc’s. Grif was on the front porch, smoking a cigarette. He didn’t comment until after Doc continued down the street, out of earshot.

“So, when’s the wedding?” Grif asked, smirking. Donut sat next to him and gave a nudge with his shoulder.

“Look, it’s not like that! We’re just really good friends!” Donut insisted. Grif gave him a look that said he didn’t believe him. “I swear! It’s purely platonic. He, um, has a crush on someone else, anyway.” 

“Aw, man, that sucks. You two were kinda cute together,” The chubby man puffed on his cigarette, “Who’s he crushing on?”

“Some girl from his work,” Donut sighed. He’d been crushing hard on Doc once upon a time, but now it was more of a dull throb that sometimes hit him when he gazed at the other man. He’d been let down gently by Doc… then shut down hard by O’Malley, Doc’s alter-ego. Maybe it was for the best. Donut had never been exactly fond of O’Malley, and if you couldn’t love all of your partner… well, then maybe it was better to just not love them at all. 

“That’s rough,” Grif looked at him sidelong. Donut returned the gaze.

“So, how’s it going with Simmons?” Grif nearly dropped his cigarette. 

“Wha- what do you mean?” He spluttered. Blush was creeping up his face and Donut couldn’t hold back a bubble of laughter.

“It’s so obvious you like him! You should make a move!” He grinned. Grif’s blush deepened. “Unless you already did?” 

“I… He came into my room last night. He said he was having nightmares or whatever and wanted to sleep in my bed with me. So I let him.” Donut reveled in the juicy gossip, not that he’d tell anyone. “I texted him today and asked him if he wanted to make it a regular thing.” Grif hesitated. “He, uh, he said yeah.”

Donut nearly squealed in delight, instead opting for hugging the squishy person beside him. Grif rolled his eyes, his face red. 

“I so called it! I knew you two would get together!” He cheered. A few weeks ago Grif had approached him, explaining how he kept feeling weird things toward Simmons that he didn’t feel toward anyone else. Donut had helped him sort through his feelings until he admitted to himself he had a giant crush on Simmons. Donut was pretty sure Simmons felt the same way, but he couldn’t be sure. 

“We’re not together,” Grif objected, “We’re just sharing a bed… Look. He’s having nightmares and I’m just helping him out. We’re not a couple.” 

“But you want to be,” Donut chirped. Grif rolled his eyes. 

“Whatever,” He muttered, putting out his cigarette. Donut leaned back on his hands, looking up at the sky. It was ruddy orange that faded to a lightish red.

 

Grif stayed on the doorstep long after Donut had gone inside. He stared off into the distance as the world around him darkened. He wasn’t sure why, exactly. There was something to be said for letting the world go and just thinking for awhile. Some might call him lazy but he didn’t particularly care. He treasured his time alone with his thoughts too much to be bothered.

There was one certain thought that kept looping through his brain. Simmons. They acted like they hated each other, but there was never any menace behind the words. Never any ill-intentions. Grif had started to realize he was falling in love with Dick Simmons, and no amount of snide comments could fix it. When Simmons had appeared in his room, he’d been utterly shocked. He thought he’d still been dreaming. When the lanky man’s body had pressed against his, he had been fully aware of every inch of skin that touched his. 

He loved Richard Simmons. 

That was the fact of the matter. And now, for whatever reason, Simmons had agreed to

sharing a bed at night. The sheer thought of it sent a shiver of anticipation, nerves, and excitement through him.

He looked over, barely keeping from jumping in surprise, as there were footsteps right beside him. He blinked up as Simmons stared down at him.

“Grif! What the hell are you doing out here?” Simmons asked. 

“Smoking,” He grinned lazily up at Simmons, gesturing to his pack of cigarettes. Simmons disapproving stare deepened. In reality, Grif had been waiting for Simmons. He knew mister tall-ginger-and-freckly was working overtime. 

“You know those mess up your lungs!” Simmons was always over-bearing. He fretted like a mother leaving her child with a babysitter for the first time. If Grif had to be honest, it was kind of endearing. 

Grif noted the way Simmons’s glasses slid down the bridge of his nose. The way he brought up a hand to push them back up without a second thought. His orange curls framed his face. His hair needed cut again; it had begun falling into his face. Grif wished he wouldn’t cut it so often. He liked the look of the locks bouncing as Simmons walked. 

“Are you even listening?” Simmons sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Grif answered by huffing. He hadn’t been listening and Simmons knew it. However, he dropped the topic, instead moving up and opening the door. He paused and looked over his shoulder on the threshold. 

“Well, are you coming?” He asked irritably. Grif fought down the small smile that he felt rising to his lips. He stretched lazily, then stood and followed Simmons inside. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long wait! School was getting a little over-bearing for me. Also, I apologize it's so short. Like I said, school's really been messing up my enthusiasm to write and has just been draining my energy.


End file.
